UVWXYZ; yeah I know my alphabet.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: G
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
Prompt: urgency
Title: Write to Remember You
Miranda gripped the fountain pen and wrote frantically, scribbling and crossing out words that she was desperate to put to paper.
She was starting to forget a lot of things recently, appointments, names, faces and more importantly, promises that she had always been able to keep before. She did not want that to change and would not let it happen now. She could even admit to herself that it was old age taking its toll on her; she could accept that, such is the natural way of life; you live, learn, (if you’re lucky) love and eventually die, but Miranda could not bring herself to tell the sombre truth to Andrea or the girls.
Closing the leather-bound journal shut, she brought the journal to her chest, grasping it fiercely before setting it back into its usual resting place in her desk drawer. She turned the key, locking tight and pocketed it. Emotions surged through her.
Until her dying breath, Miranda vowed she would remember every single thing, whether it is small, minute details like the exact shade of Andrea’s eyes (it was a meticulous fusion of light brown and tiny flecks of gold, she knew because she wrote it down) or the major cataclysmic disasters such as the arguments about Prada vs. Chanel, about disappointing the girls because she’d missed another dinner (it was hard to keep track and argue when she had no clue they were fighting), she would never forget Andrea and the beautiful life they have shared.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: PG
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Title is Andrew Lloyd Webber’s, not mine.
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
AN2: Very AU. While writing this, I may or may not have been confused and poked myself in the eye several times. I may or may not have taken liberties with characters and/or real life. I do not have any biases against pop songs. I really don’t.
Prompt: vocal
Title: An Unexpected Song
The metronome clicked; a steady metallic sound that nearly matched the pulsating of her heart. Emphasising on the word ‘nearly’, Andy’s heart thundered erratically as time ticked pass.
“Sorry I’m late. Engine wouldn’t start. I called a tow truck and waited-“
“Tales detailing how you’ve made me wait for an hour do not interest me. I do not need to hear your excuses. Now, start at the beginning. Need I remind you we’re on the clock?”
Andy took position at her usual place by the piano. She inhaled and began. Melodies carrying Italian words that she herself didn’t (really) recognize came from somewhere deep within her, the agility and strength of her voice encompassing her entire being as she pushes on each note. Andy prayed she hit the right ones and Ms. Priestly would be appeased.
She had no such luck.
“How’d you suppose the audience will hear you on stage like that? Louder.”
“An octave higher, watch your tone, this is not a pop record.”
Andy’s shoulders slumped, she was getting weary. The fact that she couldn’t resist fidgeting in Ms Priestly’s presence was no help either.
“Your posture’s appalling, stand up straight girl!”
“Maybe you’re right, I’ll never sing professionally and end up a washed-up singer without having even started!”
“Andrea,” the white-haired woman was quick; there’d been no telling noise of her approach, her lips descended upon Andy’s with a hard, almost-punishing kiss. Andy was sure her lips were bruised. “Prove me wrong.”
The metronome clicked on.
[Click here to see the result of Miranda's "hard work".]
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: G
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
AN2: I’m sorry, I don’t know where this came from.
Prompt: whisper
Title: A Whispering Chance
The whispers always came to her in the dark, as she lay in her bed, not awake, not quite yet asleep, between the parallel worlds of dreaming and waking. It was a gentle, calming voice, always the same one, uttering nonsensical words. She could never understand them; they meant nothing to her, for there was no context to base it upon.
Often, Miranda questioned her sanity.
Nevertheless, Miranda would weep sometimes, the whispering so sorrowful, so lonely; it melts even the bitterest, bleakest of hearts. Other times, it was joyous and vivacious. Miranda preferred the nights when it had been the latter. As time passed, she grew to feel attached to the voice - a young woman’s - and looked forward to the end of her day where she would be able to hear it.
As she gazed at the brunette, Miranda knew it was her. She could recognize that voice anywhere and now that the real person was standing here in the flesh, she didn’t know what to do. She panicked, but tried to hide it by busying herself with cleaning her glasses and clearing her throat, her defence mechanism working overtime with caustic remarks and a chilling, “That’s all.”
A dismissal, one that worked effectively, but not before the brunette kicked up a fuss, “... but I’m smart, I learn fast and I will work very hard.”
Interesting.
She took a risk and hired the girl from Northwestern, who wasn’t skinny or glamorous. No, Miranda took a chance on love.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: PG
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Though I wished I owned Michelle Pfeiffer. :(
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
AN2: Not trying to start any wars about who’s the best Joker. Personally, between Jack Nicholson and Heath Ledger, I think they’re both great in their own different ways.
Warning: Crack!
Prompt: x-ray
Title: I Can See Through You... No Really.
Miranda didn’t know anything about comics. Just that she’d overheard the girls arguing about which actor, Jack Nicholson or Heath Ledger, was the “Best Joker Ever!” Runway recently ran a photo shoot which featured actresses who’ve previously portrayed ‘superhero’ characters due to its rising trendiness. Famous faces like Hayden Panettiere and Michelle Pfeiffer to name a few.
Just how was it that Miranda Priestly, editor-in-chief of Runway, ended up with the power of x-ray vision? Did she get bitten by a radioactive spider? Was she part of a government experiment that’d gone terribly awry? Had she fallen into a vat of toxic waste and somehow suffered a concussion in the process? Miranda was clueless. Only that one morning she’d been perfectly-normal-happy Miranda and next, she was all, I-can-see-through-metal-and-probably-you-too.
On the way to Elias-Clarke, she endured the agonizing experience of seeing into homes, very private moments and - of all possible things - people’s clothes. By the time Roy pulled up, Miranda was internally screaming, “My eyes! My eyes!”
Where was the ‘off’ button? Surely whatever mad scientist she’d encountered was sane enough to invent a trigger of some sort to turn this goddamned ability off?
As Andrea came into view, Miranda could see through the Chanel leather, the perspiration rolling down her shapely calves. Her eyes trailed up to her-, Miranda quickly shut them. Not good.
“Miranda?”
Deciding to face the devil head-on, Miranda opened her eyes and stared right into Andrea’s heaving bosom. For the first time, on record, Miranda blushed.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: PG
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Certainly not Lisle von Rhoman, whom I borrowed from the fabulous movie, Death Becomes Her.
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
Prompt: youth
Title: The Fountain
Miranda had long since embraced her withering youth, it was an inevitable occurrence, and as such she saw no need to fight nature or gravity. She was constantly surrounded by the youthful beauty of those waif-thin girls who’d always managed to traverse a narrow line between being glamorous and malnourished, it was almost a blow to her ego, had she not been consumed with building an empire.
It certainly bothered Miranda that the tabloids began spreading absurd lies and garbage. Andrea Sachs, a gold-digging opportunist. Miranda Priestly, cradle-robbing dragon, breathing fires through her latest and juiciest in a string of mid-life crises. Utter nonsense.
But the truth was that Miranda was indeed older than Andrea. She was well aware that the damage of her decaying body was neither reversible nor stoppable.
Or was it?
Lisle von Rhoman stood before Miranda, offering the chance of a lifetime, to recapture her youth and relive her prime, with Andrea and her girls by her side. Whispers of vitality and beauty packaged into an intricate vial of some sort of magical potion, it was too seductive. Miranda knew she would not have enough time with her. Sooner or later, the natural law would rob her of that happiness.
“Your Andrea, she could join you when she is ready.”
That had been the clincher. Miranda downed the entire contents of the bottle like a vodka shot, the concoction searing her throat as she thought of her sweet Andrea. She was only wishing for more time.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: PG
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Title is from a Taking Back Sunday song.
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
Prompt: zone
Title: Number Five with a Bullet
You love your job; you’ve worked your fingers to the bone to get to where you are today, even though the hours are long. It’s emotional and physically taxing but also important to you. This week you are in charming Mexico City, following an anonymous tip about an imminent crackdown on one of the more powerful mafia families in the country.
Your job separates you from Miranda and the girls. It’s not that you don’t care about them - because you really do - but you’re desperate to make a name for yourself. You want to be known for your articles rather than as ‘Miranda Priestly’s young girlfriend’. You want to impact, influence, and change.
It’s the same thought that urges you to stay late, the voice in your head saying ‘just a few more minutes’ each night. But it is hours later before you reach home. When you call to say you’ll be missing dinner, Miranda hangs up on you. When you return, Miranda is irate. You apologize in every way you can think of but she ignores you for an hour or so, before she relents.
That annoying voice is now compelling you to enter the seedy bar, where you’ll undoubtedly pick up new leads. You walk in, attempting to seem inconspicuous. You hope with this risqué outfit you blend in.
Clutching your abdomen with blood-soaked hands, you stumble into a secluded alley. Groping in your purse, you retrieve your cell phone.
You hope Miranda would forgive you this time.
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: G
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
Prompt: urgency
Title: Write to Remember You
Miranda gripped the fountain pen and wrote frantically, scribbling and crossing out words that she was desperate to put to paper.
She was starting to forget a lot of things recently, appointments, names, faces and more importantly, promises that she had always been able to keep before. She did not want that to change and would not let it happen now. She could even admit to herself that it was old age taking its toll on her; she could accept that, such is the natural way of life; you live, learn, (if you’re lucky) love and eventually die, but Miranda could not bring herself to tell the sombre truth to Andrea or the girls.
Closing the leather-bound journal shut, she brought the journal to her chest, grasping it fiercely before setting it back into its usual resting place in her desk drawer. She turned the key, locking tight and pocketed it. Emotions surged through her.
Until her dying breath, Miranda vowed she would remember every single thing, whether it is small, minute details like the exact shade of Andrea’s eyes (it was a meticulous fusion of light brown and tiny flecks of gold, she knew because she wrote it down) or the major cataclysmic disasters such as the arguments about Prada vs. Chanel, about disappointing the girls because she’d missed another dinner (it was hard to keep track and argue when she had no clue they were fighting), she would never forget Andrea and the beautiful life they have shared.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: PG
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Title is Andrew Lloyd Webber’s, not mine.
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
AN2: Very AU. While writing this, I may or may not have been confused and poked myself in the eye several times. I may or may not have taken liberties with characters and/or real life. I do not have any biases against pop songs. I really don’t.
Prompt: vocal
Title: An Unexpected Song
The metronome clicked; a steady metallic sound that nearly matched the pulsating of her heart. Emphasising on the word ‘nearly’, Andy’s heart thundered erratically as time ticked pass.
“Sorry I’m late. Engine wouldn’t start. I called a tow truck and waited-“
“Tales detailing how you’ve made me wait for an hour do not interest me. I do not need to hear your excuses. Now, start at the beginning. Need I remind you we’re on the clock?”
Andy took position at her usual place by the piano. She inhaled and began. Melodies carrying Italian words that she herself didn’t (really) recognize came from somewhere deep within her, the agility and strength of her voice encompassing her entire being as she pushes on each note. Andy prayed she hit the right ones and Ms. Priestly would be appeased.
She had no such luck.
“How’d you suppose the audience will hear you on stage like that? Louder.”
“An octave higher, watch your tone, this is not a pop record.”
Andy’s shoulders slumped, she was getting weary. The fact that she couldn’t resist fidgeting in Ms Priestly’s presence was no help either.
“Your posture’s appalling, stand up straight girl!”
“Maybe you’re right, I’ll never sing professionally and end up a washed-up singer without having even started!”
“Andrea,” the white-haired woman was quick; there’d been no telling noise of her approach, her lips descended upon Andy’s with a hard, almost-punishing kiss. Andy was sure her lips were bruised. “Prove me wrong.”
The metronome clicked on.
[Click here to see the result of Miranda's "hard work".]
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: G
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
AN2: I’m sorry, I don’t know where this came from.
Prompt: whisper
Title: A Whispering Chance
The whispers always came to her in the dark, as she lay in her bed, not awake, not quite yet asleep, between the parallel worlds of dreaming and waking. It was a gentle, calming voice, always the same one, uttering nonsensical words. She could never understand them; they meant nothing to her, for there was no context to base it upon.
Often, Miranda questioned her sanity.
Nevertheless, Miranda would weep sometimes, the whispering so sorrowful, so lonely; it melts even the bitterest, bleakest of hearts. Other times, it was joyous and vivacious. Miranda preferred the nights when it had been the latter. As time passed, she grew to feel attached to the voice - a young woman’s - and looked forward to the end of her day where she would be able to hear it.
As she gazed at the brunette, Miranda knew it was her. She could recognize that voice anywhere and now that the real person was standing here in the flesh, she didn’t know what to do. She panicked, but tried to hide it by busying herself with cleaning her glasses and clearing her throat, her defence mechanism working overtime with caustic remarks and a chilling, “That’s all.”
A dismissal, one that worked effectively, but not before the brunette kicked up a fuss, “... but I’m smart, I learn fast and I will work very hard.”
Interesting.
She took a risk and hired the girl from Northwestern, who wasn’t skinny or glamorous. No, Miranda took a chance on love.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: PG
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Though I wished I owned Michelle Pfeiffer. :(
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
AN2: Not trying to start any wars about who’s the best Joker. Personally, between Jack Nicholson and Heath Ledger, I think they’re both great in their own different ways.
Warning: Crack!
Prompt: x-ray
Title: I Can See Through You... No Really.
Miranda didn’t know anything about comics. Just that she’d overheard the girls arguing about which actor, Jack Nicholson or Heath Ledger, was the “Best Joker Ever!” Runway recently ran a photo shoot which featured actresses who’ve previously portrayed ‘superhero’ characters due to its rising trendiness. Famous faces like Hayden Panettiere and Michelle Pfeiffer to name a few.
Just how was it that Miranda Priestly, editor-in-chief of Runway, ended up with the power of x-ray vision? Did she get bitten by a radioactive spider? Was she part of a government experiment that’d gone terribly awry? Had she fallen into a vat of toxic waste and somehow suffered a concussion in the process? Miranda was clueless. Only that one morning she’d been perfectly-normal-happy Miranda and next, she was all, I-can-see-through-metal-and-probably-you-too.
On the way to Elias-Clarke, she endured the agonizing experience of seeing into homes, very private moments and - of all possible things - people’s clothes. By the time Roy pulled up, Miranda was internally screaming, “My eyes! My eyes!”
Where was the ‘off’ button? Surely whatever mad scientist she’d encountered was sane enough to invent a trigger of some sort to turn this goddamned ability off?
As Andrea came into view, Miranda could see through the Chanel leather, the perspiration rolling down her shapely calves. Her eyes trailed up to her-, Miranda quickly shut them. Not good.
“Miranda?”
Deciding to face the devil head-on, Miranda opened her eyes and stared right into Andrea’s heaving bosom. For the first time, on record, Miranda blushed.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: PG
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Certainly not Lisle von Rhoman, whom I borrowed from the fabulous movie, Death Becomes Her.
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
Prompt: youth
Title: The Fountain
Miranda had long since embraced her withering youth, it was an inevitable occurrence, and as such she saw no need to fight nature or gravity. She was constantly surrounded by the youthful beauty of those waif-thin girls who’d always managed to traverse a narrow line between being glamorous and malnourished, it was almost a blow to her ego, had she not been consumed with building an empire.
It certainly bothered Miranda that the tabloids began spreading absurd lies and garbage. Andrea Sachs, a gold-digging opportunist. Miranda Priestly, cradle-robbing dragon, breathing fires through her latest and juiciest in a string of mid-life crises. Utter nonsense.
But the truth was that Miranda was indeed older than Andrea. She was well aware that the damage of her decaying body was neither reversible nor stoppable.
Or was it?
Lisle von Rhoman stood before Miranda, offering the chance of a lifetime, to recapture her youth and relive her prime, with Andrea and her girls by her side. Whispers of vitality and beauty packaged into an intricate vial of some sort of magical potion, it was too seductive. Miranda knew she would not have enough time with her. Sooner or later, the natural law would rob her of that happiness.
“Your Andrea, she could join you when she is ready.”
That had been the clincher. Miranda downed the entire contents of the bottle like a vodka shot, the concoction searing her throat as she thought of her sweet Andrea. She was only wishing for more time.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing(s): Andy/Miranda
Rating: PG
Word Count: 250
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Title is from a Taking Back Sunday song.
Author’s Note: For the ABCs of DWP drabble challenge at dvlwears_prada.
Prompt: zone
Title: Number Five with a Bullet
You love your job; you’ve worked your fingers to the bone to get to where you are today, even though the hours are long. It’s emotional and physically taxing but also important to you. This week you are in charming Mexico City, following an anonymous tip about an imminent crackdown on one of the more powerful mafia families in the country.
Your job separates you from Miranda and the girls. It’s not that you don’t care about them - because you really do - but you’re desperate to make a name for yourself. You want to be known for your articles rather than as ‘Miranda Priestly’s young girlfriend’. You want to impact, influence, and change.
It’s the same thought that urges you to stay late, the voice in your head saying ‘just a few more minutes’ each night. But it is hours later before you reach home. When you call to say you’ll be missing dinner, Miranda hangs up on you. When you return, Miranda is irate. You apologize in every way you can think of but she ignores you for an hour or so, before she relents.
That annoying voice is now compelling you to enter the seedy bar, where you’ll undoubtedly pick up new leads. You walk in, attempting to seem inconspicuous. You hope with this risqué outfit you blend in.
Clutching your abdomen with blood-soaked hands, you stumble into a secluded alley. Groping in your purse, you retrieve your cell phone.
You hope Miranda would forgive you this time.